I was 15 so my Dad had to get me a work permit. He sprung the job on me because it was there, not because we particularly needed extra money. I wanted more money to buy albums. Even at 3 for $12 at Korvettes I always left out a few favorites every week. Being a studious, fledgling writer, I asked if I could tutor an English class instead, but apparently the only summer school classes were for math dummies.
My job was eight a.m to noon Monday through Friday for all of July and a few weeks in August. I wasn't thrilled about getting up early in the summer. Even at 10, 11 years old I was notorious for staying up til the wee hours of the morning listening to talk radio. Yes, they had even it in the '70s. Since my Dad worked as an engineer at the same school, I had a ride to and from the job every day.
The math teacher was a dry, boring woman with short blonde hair. She taught the algebra class that I had failed. (Does this make any sense? ) I brought a book or magazine with me everyday and sat at the back of the classroom, reading, for four hours. I think I tutored one student the whole summer. A few times a week a cute blonde kid would feign integer ignorance so he could sit in the back and gab with me. We'd talk about music or the articles in the Time or Newsweek or whatever magazine I was reading that day. I think he was 13. He kinda had a crush on me--see, younger men have always liked me! Eventually, the teacher figured out we were just goofing around and forbade him from sitting in the back of the room.
I got paid $2.10 hour. I think it rounded off to $40.00 a week after taxes. All in all, not a bad first job. Didn't have to do much, could sit around and read for a few hours and get paid for it. Little did I know that my life as a peon worker would get more lurid and ridiculous with each new job.